


To the Victor Goes the Spoils

by Selkit



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/M, Female Character In Command, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Non-Explicit Sex, Possessive Sex, Sexual Content, Woman on Top, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3334304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of Zaofu, Kuvira finally gets her celebration. Baatar helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Victor Goes the Spoils

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely and incredibly talented Terra-7 drew art inspired by this fanfic, which you can view on Tumblr [here!](http://terra-7.tumblr.com/post/110332778477/for-the-amazing-coppermarigolds-returning-to)

Baatar is pacing back and forth in his laboratory car, long past the pretense of getting any work done, thinking up a hundred half-baked ideas for how to make trains  _just go faster_  when one of the soldiers finally knocks on the door.

"We're fifteen minutes out from Zaofu," the man reports. "And we've received word--the city is ours."

Baatar lets out a short, sharp breath. "And Kuvira?"

He's pretty sure the soldier is fighting back a smile, but he pretends not to notice. "The Great Uniter is unharmed, sir."

When they arrive at the open domes-- _eighteen_  minutes later, not fifteen, he notices--Baatar weaves between buildings to the central courtyard, hardly seeing the dust coating the soldiers' uniforms or the crisp green banners already draped over his grandmother's menagerie of statues. Kuvira stands out like a beacon in the midst of the milling soldiers, authoritative even with her uniform disheveled and her hair a tangled curtain around her shoulders.

Baatar lengthens his stride, eager as an ostrich-horse pointed toward home. "Kuvira," he calls.

Her eyes lock with his, and he can actually  _see_  her pupils dilate. She pulls her lower lip into her mouth, bites down, and releases, and Baatar feels his brain go entirely, embarrassingly blank.

"You all know your assignments," Kuvira says. "Dismissed, everyone. Baatar, with me."

He falls in step beside her as she strides from the courtyard, and as soon as they're out of the soldiers' sight-lines she grabs his wrist and quickens her pace. Her fingers are eagle's talons around helpless prey, and her breathing comes so fast and rough she's almost panting.

"Kuvira," he begins, and he has no idea what he's about to say--perhaps  _congratulations_  or  _we did it_  or  _I love you_ \--but her fingers dig into his wrist and tug harder, her grip so insistent he wonders if he'll have glove burns tomorrow.

"Later," she says, her voice the rough staccato she uses on the all-too-rare occasions when she's  _through_  being professional and has to have him  _right this minute._ She makes a sharp turn down the hallway, still towing him behind her, and realization cuts through the haze around Baatar's brain as he registers his surroundings. 

She's taking him to his parents' bedroom. 

His steps stall, feet turning clumsy, the reality of it hitting him in a way it hasn't before.  _This is our city now. Not Mom and Dad's. Ours._

He opens his mouth again, but his throat is too dry to make any words come out, and Kuvira is metalbending the door open and pulling him inside. He has mere seconds to let his eyes adjust to the dark room and realize his parents' bed and most of their belongings are already gone, Kuvira's bed and dresser taking their place, and then the metal on his uniform propels him backward until he's flat on the mattress, his glasses knocked askew and his legs dangling over the side of the bed.

And Kuvira is straddling him, one hand on his chest and the other in his hair, her mouth pressing against his in sharp, desperate kisses.

Sex after successfully taking a city is nothing new. It's a practical way to burn off the stress and adrenaline, and Kuvira is nothing if not practical. 

_("You make for a good workout," she tells him once, still naked with her legs draped over his, her eyes glinting as he flushes crimson. "If we have sex an additional one to two times per week, I should be able to shave a few minutes off my morning run."_

_His brain grinds to a halt on 'sex an additional one to two times per week,' a goofy grin spreading over his face before he hears the rest of her sentence. "Wait...what do you mean, only 'a few minutes?'"_

_She grins and kisses him.)_

But this time there is no playful banter, no tender foreplay, only Kuvira's nails raking through his hair, her breath harsh in his ear, her teeth grazing his neck. 

"You're shaking," he realizes, his fingers pausing halfway through the motion of tugging her pants down her thighs. "Are you--"

"Had to wait forever for you to get here." A clatter reverberates through the floor as she metalbends his belt off, followed by the unmistakable sound of his uniform ripping. Baatar resigns himself to more giggles from the laundry staff when he drops it off to be mended. "What took you so long?"

"There was a slight, uh, setback with the weapon test--"

For the first time she pauses, pulling back to look down at him with narrowed eyes. Even her disheveled hair, swollen lips, and flushed cheeks do little to dull the force of her stare. "Setback?"

"Nothing crippling. I'll give you the details later." He shifts beneath her, trying to angle his hips up toward hers. "Kuvira, please--"

It's a testament to her degree of arousal that she lets the subject drop, leaning forward to let him grasp the edge of her uniform and pull it over her head. She waves it away with a flick of her wrist, sending it to the floor with a heavy metallic thud, and kicks her pants to the side before climbing back on top of him.

The drawn curtains let in just enough light to outline the contours of her body, and he slips his hand between her legs, finding the angle that makes her jaw go slack and her eyes fall half-closed. She grabs his other hand a little desperately, pinning it to the bed and lacing her fingers with his, pitching forward to cover him with feverish kisses. 

"Mine," she says against his lips, first a whisper, then a growl as his pace increases. He doesn't know if she's referring to him, to Zaofu, or to the entire country, but he supposes it doesn't much matter.

All of them are true, anyway.

* * *

After, she sits up in bed and flips on the metal light switch with a flick of her finger, pulling both arms over her head in a languid stretch. Baatar blinks, his eyes adjusting to the sudden burst of light, and catches his first glimpse of her skin. 

Dark, fresh bruises trail from her shoulder down her side, extending below her ribs in mottled indigo masses, as though someone upended an inkwell on her skin. Baatar sits bolt upright, his glasses nearly flying off his face with the sudden movement. "Kuvira," he bleats. "Spirits, are you okay?"

"And this is why I kept the lights off," she says, her smile belying her dry tone. "It's fine, Baatar. If I couldn't handle a few bruises, I would have stayed here behind the domes with your mother."

"But--" He gapes at her discolored flesh, wondering how much he'd inadvertently hurt her while the lights were off. "What happened?" 

"The Avatar tried to stop me from taking the city." She states it like she's discussing the dinner menu, pulling one arm behind her shoulder and leaning to the side in another graceful stretch. Her muscles ripple beneath the bruises like some kind of ghastly art display.

"What did she do, throw a  _mountain_  at you?"

Kuvira takes a moment to answer, and her eyes evade his. "She went into the Avatar state. I hit the ground hard a few times before I was able to subdue her."

The room spins, and his horror must be written all over his face, because suddenly Kuvira is in his lap with his head cradled between her palms. 

"You worry too much," she murmurs against his forehead. "When she came to see me yesterday and tried to talk me down, I knew she would crack in battle. And she did."

She smoothes his hair back and kisses his forehead, yet despite the reassurance of her touch, the slight edge in her voice warns him not to press the matter further. He closes his eyes and swallows his words, trying to block out the sudden colorless visions of a world without her.

"You know I trust your judgment," he says instead, reaching out to gently rest his hands on the unbroken skin at her waist. "But I still worry."

She stays silent a moment, her fingers still curling in his hair. "We don't live safe lives, Baatar," she says at last. "There will always be threats, people standing in our way, people who want to take us down. Any of us could die tomorrow, you or I included. What's important is that our Empire is protected."

"Shhh," he pleads, cupping her face. "I don't want to think about that, not tonight. Not when we've finally finished uniting the Empire. Can't we just enjoy the moment tonight, and worry about the Empire tomorrow?"

Her face tightens briefly, the corner of her mouth slanting downward, but then her expression softens. She lifts her hands to cover his, twining their fingers together.

"All right," she says. Her voice is quiet, and her eyes shift to the side, as though she's talking more to herself than to him. "It's my responsibility anyway, not yours."

She leans forward for another kiss, and he feels her mouth turn up in a smile. "If it makes you feel any better," she says, "I have no intention of dying anytime soon. Not when I have an Empire to run." She releases his hands and lets her fingers drift down his chest, her thumbs resting over his heart. "And a wedding to plan."

"I'll hold you to that," Baatar says with a grin, and bends down to gently brush his lips over the bruise on her shoulder. 

She shudders, and he freezes, craning his head to look up at her. "Did that hurt?"

"No." Her body goes still, every muscle taut. He's reminded of all the times he's watched her hold poses while she dances, poised like pure coiled energy waiting to be released. "Keep going."

He obeys, trailing his mouth over her shoulder and down her side to follow the path of bruises, every touch light as a whisper. Her hands slip down his back, digging in when he reaches sensitive spots, and he listens to the quivering hitches interrupt the cadence of her breathing. 

"I should...get back," she says, but her voice is thick, and he doesn't miss the shifting of her hips. "I need to address the troops...deal with the populace..."

"You said you'd celebrate when the Empire was united," he reminds her. "Zaofu was the last holdout."

"You're a bad influence," she mutters, the words ending in a hiss as he scatters kisses over her ribcage. "Why do I keep you around?"

He smiles against her skin. "Every empress needs her own personal workout machine and giant mech-builder."

She stills again, but this time he senses wariness rather than anticipation. "You know that's not all you are to me," she says. Her voice hardens, shedding its warmth, the Great Uniter slipping back in. "Baatar. You know that, right? No matter what the rumors say."

"I know." He finds her hand, squeezes it tight. "You don't have to worry about me, Kuvira. I know."

He leans back far enough to catch her eye, flashing her a grin. "Now," he says, settling his hands on her hips and tugging her toward him, "will you let me work? I have something in mind that'll let you take a whole ten minutes off your run tomorrow."

"So ambitious." She laughs, a rich, vibrant sound that lights up her eyes and sends warmth spiraling through his chest. "Go ahead. You know I have the greatest respect for your innovations."

And he does, letting his hands and mouth speak for him, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of her forgetting the Empire, even if just for a little while. 


End file.
